


Of Undisturbed Snow and Unraveled Stockings

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1785, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Feast of Saint Nicholas, Fluff, Snow, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 21:34:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12968862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: It's the eve of Saint Nicholas Day and the Hamiltons are hanging stockings by the chimney with care...A fluffy Christmas one-shot





	Of Undisturbed Snow and Unraveled Stockings

**December 1785**

A gust of wind beat at the parlor window, and a draft of cold air followed though the gap in the curtains where Hamilton and Pip were peeking outside. The three year old could barely see over the window sill. Eliza adjusted a warm woolen blanket more securely over herself and her one year old little daughter.

“The street’s completely covered already,” Hamilton announced, glancing back at her with visible excitement. Although November had brought frost and freezing temperatures, they’d made it through almost a week of December before experiencing the first snow of the season. Her husband had been gleefully watching the white powder accumulate all evening.

She smiled fondly. “Now that you’ve had your update, could you close the curtain, please? You’re letting in the cold.”

He looked a little contrite as he ushered their son away and secured the heavy curtains. “Sorry, Betsey.”

“It’s snowing, it’s snowing,” Pip sang to himself as he wiggled in the middle of the room.

Hamilton grinned at the boy as he stoked the fire with one of the irons they kept by the hearth. The flames crackled and danced as he coaxed them higher. “Better?”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“I think it’s time to hang the stockings. What do you say, Pip?” Hamilton suggested as he replaced the fire iron, clapping his hands together enthusiastically.

“Stockings!” Pip exclaimed, dashing over to the basket where Eliza had stored the specially knitted, colorful stockings for each of their children. He handed his blue and white striped stocking over to his father first and bounced on his toes excitedly as Hamilton hung it carefully on the mantle.

Rather than hand over the red and white striped stocking as well, Pip strained his pudgy arms up towards the hook, a look of determination on his face. When Hamilton tried to take it, he whined, “I want to do Geli’s.”

Pip had been small enough when Angelica was born that he struggled to say her full name, and he’d stuck with the rather odd nickname over the past year despite Eliza’s best efforts. Hamilton had hardly been a help. “She’s soft, squishy, and somehow always sticky. I think Geli is a perfectly appropriate name,” he’d insisted as he’d pinched their daughter’s cherub cheeks last time she’d brought it up. And so, ‘Geli’ their little girl remained.

“All right,” Hamilton chuckled and dropped his end of the stocking. “How about I give you a boost?”

Pip seemed to consider for a moment before agreeing. Hamilton lifted him up easily and directed his little hand towards the hook. “Well done,” he praised as he set the boy down.

Scurrying over to her and his little sister, Pip said proudly, “Look, Geli, I hung your stocking.”

“What a good big brother you are,” Eliza praised.

“Pip,” Angelica added succinctly, with one of the very few words she’d mastered, as she sat forward to try to reach said big brother.

Hamilton came up behind Pip, plucked him up by his armpits, and swung him onto the sofa while Pip giggled with delight. She freed Angelica to crawl off her lap and sit beside Pip as Hamilton settled himself on the sofa as well.

Pip pet his little sister’s dark curls like she was a favorite plaything. He’d always doted on her. When Eliza first let her son hold the infant, seated on this very sofa surrounded by pillows, he’d stared down at her with big eyes and declared firmly, “She’s my baby.” Angelica had seemed quite pleased with that arrangement ever since.

“Shall I tell a story of Saint Nicholas?” Hamilton asked.

Pip nodded happily.

“And then time for bed,” she added.

Pip’s nose wrinkled with displeasure, but he held his tongue at Hamilton’s raised brow.

Another gust of wind beat against the window as her husband began to recite the story of Saint Nicholas bringing gold to the three daughters of a poor man to save them from a life of slavery. She drew the blanket closer against the cold and rested her hand over her slightly rounded stomach as she listened. Pip looked enthralled as he gazed up at his father. She reached out to tousle the boy’s hair while he listened.  

“That’s why, every year, Saint Nicholas flies in his wagon to deliver gifts to all the good boys and girls in Christendom.”

Pip snuck a glance at her as he requested, “Tell another story, Papa.”

“Another story?” Hamilton echoed with a wry smile. He glanced down at Angelica, who’d fallen asleep on her brother’s shoulder even before the second daughter of the poor man had found a golden ball in her stocking.

“The cupbearer story,” Pip specified.

Amusement lit Hamilton’s bright eyes as he met her gaze. She smiled back and allowed, “One more story.”

Pip settled in happily to listen to an abbreviated version of how Saint Nicholas rescued a young boy who’d been kidnapped by pirates and forced to serve a foreign king by carrying about his golden cup. When Hamilton came to the end of that story, Pip was blinking heavily. He asked, around a great yawn, “One more?”

“Tomorrow,” Hamilton replied gently. “It’s bedtime.”

“But I’m not sleepy,” Pip insisted.

“You look sleepy,” Eliza teased, tickling the little boy’s tummy gently. Pip squirmed and grinned up at her with one eye closed. She reminded him, “If you don’t go to sleep, Saint Nicholas won’t be able to leave you any presents.”

Hamilton heaved Pip off the sofa. “All right, off to bed with you.”

Eliza eased Angelica into her arms and followed, careful not to wake the little girl lying limp against her shoulder. Angelica went down without waking, and she found Hamilton waiting for her in the hallway when she went to say goodnight to Pip. “He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow,” her husband informed her.

He followed behind her back downstairs, where she intended to cuddle up with the blanket and another hot cup of tea after quickly setting up for the morning. When the stockings were prepared and the cookies were nibbled, she settled back onto the sofa, and Hamilton paced over to the window to peek outside again. She shook her head. “Is it still snowing?”

He grinned at her.

“Let’s go outside.”

She raised a brow skeptically. “It’s freezing outside.”

“It’s snowing,” he said, as though that were any kind of answer. His lower lip jutted out playfully. “Please?”

“You’re mad,” she told him.

He nodded, still wearing that contagious smile of his. “Most definitely.”

She could never resist that smile. Thus, minutes later, bundled in her warmest cloak, she found herself stepping out into the freezing, snowy night. The lamplighter had come by despite the storm, she noted, as the streetlamps cast a warm golden glow over the white streets, the light reflecting beautifully so that the fresh snow seemed to sparkle. Hamilton paused at the bottom of the stoop and looked up at the fast falling flakes.

“Have you ever tried to catch a snowflake on your tongue?” she asked, pausing aside him. “Angelica, Peggy, and I used to do it for the first snow of the year. It’s good luck.”

She stuck her tongue out to demonstrate when he looked over at her. He laughed jovially and turned his face back up towards the sky as he copied her. Their breath created puffs of white smoke in the frigid air. As she watched him try to catch snowflakes, she wondered anew at his love of winter. She knew he’d been deprived of snow during his childhood, but after all the horror of winters with army, she expected the novelty would have worn off.

“What is it with you and snow?” she asked aloud.

He retracted his tongue and looked at her. “I love it.”

“Why?”

“It makes me think of you,” he answered simply. “It was snowing when we met, and when we got married, and when I came home from the war. Good things happen in snow.”

She felt her smile grow crooked and silly at the explanation. Stepping over to him, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a long, slow kiss. When she pulled back to look up at him, he added, “See?”

She laughed and kissed him again. The streets were empty due to the storm, the hush of winter heavy around them as they stood in the glow of the streetlight. She rested her head against his chest and soaked in the quiet.

He pressed a kiss to her temple after a few long moments, and said, “I keep forgetting to tell you, I invited the Baron for dinner tomorrow.”

She nodded, not at all surprised. Von Steuben’s finances were in such a state, her husband invited him over at every opportunity. “That’s fine. I was going to serve the roast. There should be plenty for everyone.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you had any word on his petition to Congress?”

“Nothing,” he sighed. “I wrote to the General last week. I’m hoping he’ll be able do more.”

She squeezed him tight, and a comfortable silence fell over them again. After a few more quiet moments, she asked, “Was there something particular you wanted to do in the snow? Or can we go inside now?”

He hummed in consideration for a moment. She swore she could hear the smile grow on his face when he’d come to a decision. “Snow angels,” he announced definitively.

She glanced around. “Where? In the street?”

“No one’s coming.”

She snorted. “Famous last words. How am I supposed to explain the hero of Yorktown being run over by a sleigh?”

“Tell them I died as I lived,” he said with a grin.

“Being ridiculous?”

He laughed. “No. Being an angel.”

She groaned at the joke, which only made him laugh harder.

“Come on, Betsey. Come play with me,” he insisted, taking her by the hand and walking them out into the middle of the street. He tugged her down beside him to lie flat on the undisturbed snow. The snow gave a satisfying crunch underneath her.

She spread her arms and legs out wide to create the proper shape. “I haven’t done this since I was little,” she observed, feeling curiously happy to relive the experience. “The trick is getting up without ruining the effect.”

“What’s the trick?” he asked.

“I’m not sure I can manage it now; I’m old and pregnant.”

After one false start, she managed to sit up without putting her hands in the snow and then slowly achieved a standing position. Once she was up, she took a great leap away so as not to leave footprints in the snow directly around the angel imprint. Hamilton copied her, landing close beside her and turning around to enjoy their creations.

“Perfect,” he judged with a single nod.

The snow was still falling steadily around them. In the distance, she heard the muffled sound of sleigh bells.  She smirked at him. “And I thought no one could be out in this weather?”

“I stand by that. It must be Saint Nicholas,” Hamilton decided with a teasing lilt.

“I see. Are you hoping he’ll bring you something?” she teased back.

“No.” His expression was warm and soft as he ran his right thumb over the slight swell of her belly beneath her cloak. “I already have everything I want.”

He kissed her gently, and at last suggested, “Let’s go back inside.”

They trooped back up the stairs and into the house, where they unbundled and shook the fine coating of snow from their coats. “It’s getting late. Are you ready for bed?” she asked, entwining his icy fingers in her own.

“You go ahead. I just want to check that the fire’s tapered down before we retire for the evening.”

She squeezed his palm lightly before releasing his hand and heading upstairs to change for bed. She poked her head into the children’s rooms on her way by and found both of them still fast asleep. The maid had stoked the fire in their bedroom earlier, but even the warmth of the roaring fire wasn’t enough to entirely beat back the chill. Hamilton followed a few minutes behind her and changed quickly into his nightshirt as she snuggled down into the blankets.

“It’s so cold,” he complained as he wiggled under the blankets and pulled the bed curtains closed behind him. Pressing his icy hands to her face, he added, “Feel.”

She jumped and pushed his hands away. “You’re the one who wanted to go outside.”

“But now I’m cold,” he insisted, scooting closer to her. She shook her head as he tugged the blankets around himself and slide down so that his head rested against her stomach and his arm wrapped tightly around her. “That’s better.”

“Comfortable?” she asked.

He nodded against her and dropped a kiss to her belly. She tenderly ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp from the snow, and shifted to get comfortable. Sleep claimed her quickly.

“Stockings!”

The excited exclamation jolted her out of a sound sleep. Her husband bolted up in bed beside her.

“Wake up! Stockings! Stockings! Stockings!” Pip continued, jumping up and down on their bed.

Hamilton rubbed a hand over his face and yawned. “We’re up, Pip. No more jumping.”

“Stockings!” With one last shout, he scurried off the bed and out the door, where they heard him shout, “Stockings, Geli!”

Hamilton laughed and looked down at her. “I think he wants to do stockings.”

“So I gathered,” she replied, forcing herself to sit up as well.

They heard two sets of tiny footsteps charging towards the stairs as they pulled on their thick winter robes. “Pip, don’t take your sister on the stairs!” Hamilton shouted, racing out into the hall still tying his robe about his waist.

“I showed her how to do it safe, Papa,” she heard Pip reply as she rushed out of the room a step behind him.

She nearly ran smack into her husband’s back at the top of the stairs. Peeking around him, she saw both Pip and Angelica scooting slowly down the steps on their bottoms, a little thump accompanying each step they successfully navigated. Hamilton had taught Pip to go down that way when he was two, and decided he was much too old and independent to be carried down the steps anymore. Hamilton craned his head back to meet her eye and shrugged.

They made it down the stairs safely, albeit at a snail’s pace. When they made it to the last step, Pip took off flying towards the parlor. Angelica hopped up and went to rush after him. Although she’d mostly mastered the art of walking, she suffered from the unfortunate tendency of looking everywhere but the direction she was going; she predictably ended up splayed out on the foyer floor.

Hamilton bent down and helped her up. “Are you all right, honey?”

She took off running towards the parlor again without answering.

“I guess she’s all right,” Eliza commented with a smile.

He chuckled and shook his head as he straightened up, then held his hand out to take hers. They entered the parlor together and paused in the doorway, both their jaws going slack. In the minute they’d paused the help Angelica, Pip had managed to get his stocking down from the mantle. Or, rather, had _almost_ managed to get his stocking down from the mantle. The stocking had snagged on the hook, and a long piece of blue yarn stretched from the mantle to Pip.

“Philip,” she said sternly, moving towards him.

He laughed and raced away, stretching the yarn even further. The stocking had half unraveled by the time she caught him around the middle. Pip held an orange triumphantly in the air; he was fittingly punished with kisses and tickles.

“Come here, little angel,” she heard Hamilton encourage behind her. Angelica tottered over to him to look at her stocking. “What’s in here?”

“What else did Saint Nicholas leave for you, my little monster?” she asked Pip.

Pip thrust his hand into the half-unraveled stocking and pulled out two more oranges, a sack of marbles, and three chocolates.

“Dolly!” Angelica cried, cuddling a little rag doll to her chest.

She looked over at her husband, and they shared a smile.

When they had both children settled on the sofa, and Eliza was helping Pip peel an orange, Hamilton paced back over to the fireplace and hummed thoughtfully. “What’s this?”

She looked over her shoulder to see him scrutinizing a third stocking hanging on the mantle. Quickly pulling off the rest of the orange peel, she straightened and frowned. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” he said, eyes wide and tone innocent. “Saint Nicholas must have left it.”

He peeked into the stocking, then smirked at her. “I think it’s for you.”  

She shook her head at him as she moved towards him. This was a children’s holiday; they weren’t meant to exchange gifts. She stuck her hand into the stocking. Inside, she found a note and a small box. “To the loveliest of her sex, this small token may benefit from the reflection of your beauty,” she read aloud with a skeptical smile. “My, Saint Nicholas is quite the charmer.”

“I’ll have a word with him,” Hamilton assured her with a wink.

She carefully untied the red ribbon and removed the cover. Inhaling sharply, she looked up at her husband. “Oh, Hamilton, it’s wonderful.”

“What is it?” he asked coyly.

She showed him the little diamond pendant, and lowered her voice. “Can we afford this?”

He nodded, his expression softening.

“Here, let me help you,” he offered, removing the necklace from its box and fastening it around her neck. He stepped back to look at her. “There. Beautiful.”  

She touched her hair self-consciously, sure she looked a mess after the hectic morning. “I’m sure,” she scoffed.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated.

She kissed him gently. “Thank you. I love it.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I feel like I should have something for you, though,” she complained, leaning against him.

His hand stroked over her abdomen lightly once more. “I told you, I already have everything I want.”

She squeezed him a little tighter in return.

The maid brought in tea, coffee, and a light breakfast for them some minutes later. After taking some refreshments, Hamilton beckoned Pip to follow him. The pair laid down on their bellies before the fire, and her husband dumped the sack of marbles out between them. Angelica, still clutching her doll and sporting a face covered in chocolate, crawled into her lap and snuggled up against her.

She had a list of things to do: a stocking to mend, a dinner to prepare, seeing the children dressed and ready for church, seeing that her husband was dressed and ready for church, and on and on. Instead, she took a breath and relaxed back, enjoying the feeling of her little girl in her arms. She watched Hamilton line up a shot and flick a little blue marble with his thumb. Sometimes she’d think she couldn’t possibly love her little family more.

 Somehow, she was always proven wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> A Christmas story not actually set on Christmas, I know...historically, the tradition of hanging stockings by the chimney was associated with the eve of Saint Nicholas Day, or the night of December 5th. Oranges were a very traditional gift to find in the stockings because they were meant to symbolize the three golden balls Saint Nicholas gifted to the three daughters of a poor man as a dowry. It was a holiday intended for children, so adults wouldn't typically exchange any gifts. Also, the little factoid about Hamilton writing to Washington to get help for Von Steuben is based on a letter he wrote on 25 November 1785.
> 
> Just for reference, in 1785: Philip was was three, turning four in January; Angelica was about 15 months old; and Eliza was about four months pregnant with little Alex.
> 
> We had the first snow of the season in my area, so I was feeling in a particularly wintery, hamliza mood. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Feedback is always appreciated!


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